


In the Circle

by musegnome



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Summoning Circles, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29215932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musegnome/pseuds/musegnome
Summary: Aziraphale had drawn the pentagram in the center of the bookshop, right where the circle to Heaven had been. Crowley shivered delightedly at the thought of being taken atop it, of screaming out Aziraphale’s name in the very spot where the Metatron’s words had shattered the last of the angel’s faith.And if there was a moment when Crowley saw the flames and thought of the last time he’d screamed Aziraphale’s name in this bookshop, it vanished as he took in the scene laid out for him.(An angel and a demon indulge in a bit of summoning circle roleplay.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 181
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	In the Circle

The runes spread warm and gold like honey across their kitchen table. Aziraphale peered at them through his little glasses and checked his book.

“Is this really necessary?” Crowley demanded.

“It is,” Aziraphale replied, unperturbed. He made a note, waved a hand; a sigil’s swirl changed the direction of its curve.

Crowley prowled impatiently around him. “Angel. If you tinker with every single symbol, we’ll never be ready.”

“If you think for one second that I’m going to trap you in a circle without making sure you’ll be safe first, you’re sorely mistaken.” Aziraphale snapped the book shut and looked at him sternly over the top of his glasses. “Unless you’d prefer to simply _pretend_ you’ve lost your powers?”

“No no no,” Crowley said hastily. “Just. Been looking forward to it, is all.”

It had taken him weeks to talk Aziraphale into this. He wasn’t about to put them both through all that persuasion again just because he rushed the angel at the last minute.

“At any rate, I think I’ve got it now.” Aziraphale set the book aside. “Let’s start with a bit of your hair.”

Crowley found himself holding a sharp, tiny pair of scissors. He rolled his eyes, but snipped off a lock. He passed it to Aziraphale and grew the hair back immediately.

“Vain thing,” Aziraphale said fondly.

He sprinkled the red hair across the runes. Despite himself, Crowley leaned forward to see.

The sigils briefly flared brighter, but the hair remained unchanged.

He reached over Aziraphale’s shoulder, ignoring the angel’s anxious exclamation, and placed his hand on the table, square in the middle of the pattern.

There was a flash. And there was heat this time, a definite wave of it under his fingers. But heat, for him, wasn’t a problem. Crowley inspected his palm: there were only a few faint red marks, and they were already fading.

“See, angel? It’s fine.”

Aziraphale scowled.

“Look. Let’s try a little more.” Crowley stripped off his shirt – and if he flexed a bit, if he made more of a show of it than was strictly necessary… Well. He’d never been above a little temptation, had he?

Aziraphale’s eyes raked down his naked torso. His apprehension melted into something more like anticipation.

Crowley hoisted himself onto the table and lay down with his bare back directly on Aziraphale’s runes.

It was hot. But really not much more than his heating pad, dialed up a notch or two higher than his preferred setting. He actually felt his shoulders relaxing into the warmth.

Better yet, he felt the sigils pulling at his power. Not a lot – certainly not as much as he’d been hoping – but siphoning off enough that his tongue went forked. His eyes were probably full yellow, if the shift in his vision was any indication.

And suddenly, he felt busy fingers unbuttoning his trousers.

“Why, angel,” he drawled as Aziraphale worked them over his hips and off. “Abandoning your research methodology so quickly?” He was already half-hard.

“Not at all, darling. Merely exploring new avenues of inquiry.”

He rolled up one sleeve, then the other. Crowley watched, mesmerised by the hair on his forearms, outlined warm in the gold glow of the runes.

Aziraphale ran hands up and down his sides. Thumbed his nipples. Reached down and gave his cock a slow stroke. Two. Three.

“You want to try a dry run, then?” Crowley gasped, rocking up into Aziraphale’s grip.

His angel laughed. “Oh, Crowley.” His voice was low and amused. “Who said anything about dry?”

The hand against his cock was dripping now, and Crowley groaned as he thrust into the slick. Slippery fingers roamed lower.

“Well.” He squirmed as Aziraphale began to push inside. “Anything for science.”

The rest of the evening’s experimentation proved to be quite extensive.

*~*~*

Crowley was trying not to pace.

Aziraphale had been gone the entire day. That in and of itself would have had Crowley on edge even without the restless anticipation of what was in store. What was coming. So to speak.

They’d agreed – or rather, Crowley had insisted, and Aziraphale had relented – that there would be no warning given before he was summoned. So Crowley had no idea what to do with himself in the meantime.

He ran over their safewords in his head. He wasn’t sure he could say the colours properly with his snake tongue, so they’d come up with alternates that were easier to hiss. _Sage. Saffron. Cinnamon._ “Cooking spices, really?” he’d teased, but he loved Aziraphale so, loved his angel who took such care to protect him.

He lounged around in the nude for a bit until he got cold. He pinned up his hair and took a hot bath, wanting to be clean for his lover. He tried on all of his own lingerie and some of Aziraphale’s robes. What would be the most dramatic against the golden colours? Black lace? Red silk? The angel’s white satin?

In the end it didn’t matter. When he suddenly appeared inside the summoning circle, he was naked.

Aziraphale had drawn the pentagram in the center of the bookshop, right where the circle to Heaven had been. Crowley shivered delightedly at the thought of being taken atop it, of screaming out Aziraphale’s name in the very spot where the Metatron’s words had shattered the last of the angel’s faith.

And if there was a moment when Crowley saw the flames and thought of the last time he’d screamed Aziraphale’s name in this bookshop, it vanished as he took in the scene laid out for him.

The runes glowed gold against the dark wood of the shop floor, warm under his bare feet. He was surrounded by a ring of candles, a dozen at least, maybe two. Their fires had already made the circle hot enough to break him into a light sweat. And around it all was a glittering circle of salt crystals. Aziraphale hadn’t missed a thing.

The only thing absent was Crowley’s demonic power.

Which was the crux of the plan.

It was gone, every bit of it, and with it went his ability to soften himself into human appearance. His fangs burst into points, his nails sharpened; his tongue slimmed and split and forked at the tip.

His supernatural senses had disappeared, too. He couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s aura. Couldn’t bring back his own clothes, even if he’d wanted to. Couldn’t even see through the gloom – not a thing beyond the candlelight. He tested his strength against the circle. The magic held fast.

He waited in the flickering darkness for Aziraphale to come to him.

“Demon.”

Aziraphale’s voice boomed forth, amplified with just a hint of celestial power. He appeared at the edge of the circle, the eerie blue glow of his eyes a shocking contrast to the warm candlelight. He was garbed in white robes held at the shoulder with a gold brooch. He was distant and cold, stern and fierce, every inch an angel of the Lord.

All the empty places where Crowley’s power had been vibrated now with arousal.

“Angel,” he snarled in reply, falling into the role he’d begged to play. “Why have you brought me here?”

Aziraphale smiled cruelly. “Because I wish to taste the sins of man, that I may learn to resist them. And who better to teach me of such sins than the one who first laid their temptation in human hearts?”

Crowley stood bared to him, naked as Eve standing before God with the juice of the apple still wet on her lips. Aziraphale’s gaze on his body burned like hellfire.

Aziraphale reached up and unclasped the brooch. The robes fell at his feet. He was hard already, Crowley saw – as hard as he was, himself.

“Three. A holy number,” Aziraphale mused. “Three times in the circle I’ll take your pleasure from you, lovely demon, before I take my own. And then, perhaps, you shall be freed.”

Nude, he stepped across the salt and the flames, into the gold-runed circle.

He locked his eyes with Crowley’s. “Colour?” he asked softly.

“Sssssage,” Crowley hissed, ineffably thankful for Aziraphale’s foresight as he struggled to manage fangs and tongue and a brain that was rapidly losing all ability for language. Or for any sort of coherent thought. His entire awareness was centred between his legs.

Aziraphale buried a brutal hand in his hair and _pulled_ , spinning Crowley around and pushing him to his knees. Another shove between his shoulder blades knocked him forward onto his hands.

 _Do it rough_ , Crowley had demanded. And even though he was the one being manhandled, the knowledge that his gentle angel was doing this to him, _for_ him, because he’d asked it, made it all impossibly more of a turn-on. He shuddered as he listened to the delicious wet sounds of Aziraphale stroking himself behind him.

Crowley wanted him inside _now_ , and without thinking he tried to miracle himself slick and open. Though the power flexed, the effort was empty. There was no response to his attempt – he remained tight and taut. He thrilled at the reminder of his helplessness.

And then Aziraphale dropped to his knees and slid a finger into Crowley and _curled_ , and with the flex and press of it Crowley moaned.

“Oh, _angel._ ”

A hand was suddenly over his mouth. “None of that,” Aziraphale said sharply. “No words can help you now, fiend.”

But Aziraphale’s fingers were loose enough that Crowley could still twist his head and speak if he wanted. And for the first time, his angel’s touch was uncertain.

In response, Crowley pushed his hips backward, fucking himself harder against Aziraphale’s hand. The hand over his mouth was the one Aziraphale had used to touch himself, and Crowley sucked the taste from his fingers.

“So eager,” Aziraphale murmured darkly.

The finger slid out, and then it was the head of Aziraphale’s prick against his rim, and the angel pushed inside him, thick and perfect.

With a groan Crowley took him all the way up to the hilt.

The heat of the circle radiated over them both: the golden sigils, hot under Crowley’s hands and knees; the burning candles; their bodies pressed together. Crowley’s long red hair was damp through with it. When Aziraphale bent forward over his back, his soft belly slid in the sweat pooled there.

When he began to move, the sensation was almost overwhelming.

It was hard and fast. Crowley’s aching cock bobbed as Aziraphale fucked into him. Braced on his hands, he couldn’t touch himself; it was all he could do to take the lovely weight of the angel behind him, mounted atop him, pushing him harder against the runes with each thrust. He almost wept in relief when Aziraphale’s hand closed around him, twisting and tugging.

He lapped mindlessly with his forked tongue at the fingers still on his lips. When he came, his cry was muffled behind Aziraphale’s hand.

Aziraphale worked him through it with long, rough pulls, but when it was done he kissed Crowley softly on the shoulder.

Before Crowley could protest the slipping out of character, the angel slid out of him – his own cock still hard – and dragged him upright, to his knees.

“That was but the first time,” he purred, with one hand on Crowley’s throat and the other playing lightly along his prick. Power trickled through his fingers. Blood rushed miraculously back to Crowley’s cock, and he stiffened again in Aziraphale’s hand.

“You’re worse than any demon,” he gasped, trying to play his part. He attempted to struggle, but all he could manage on his jellied legs was a bit of a wiggle.

Aziraphale caught him easily. “Perhaps not _any_ demon, hmmm?” He turned Crowley in his arms and laid him out on his back on the floor, gentle in spite of it all. He settled between his legs.

“And now,” he said, still stroking Crowley’s cock, his fingers slick with Crowley’s spend, “you’re going to tell me your colour.”

Crowley tried to remember the right word through his euphoric haze. “Sssage. Sssooo very, very sage, angel.”

Aziraphale grinned wickedly. “Excellent.” And he thrust deep inside, where Crowley was still open and wet.

The noise that escaped Crowley’s lips was as broken with sensation as the rest of him. Shattered, he could only ride the waves of pleasure, breath punched out of him with every snap of Aziraphale’s hips.

The shove and drag of it, and the slippery weight of the angel atop him, and the rub of his own cock in the slick of sweat and come, against the give of Aziraphale’s plush flesh – all of it together flooded his senses. He would drown in it.

Heat from the runes of the circle radiated against his back. It was just short of painful. It would have burned against his face but for the angel’s hand, which had come up to cradle him protectively. Crowley turned his cheek into the sticky palm, nuzzling and nipping at the heel of it, moaning into the soft skin.

He gathered Aziraphale in with his knees. He wanted him deeper. He tried to pull him closer but his hands slipped in sweat; he dug his nails in, heard the hiss of Aziraphale’s breath as he raked them across his back, and the noise sent a charge of pure, violent lust straight through him. He might not have his powers, but he could still leave his lover with the marks of a demon.

Aziraphale pushed in hard and held there, still and steady, and growled encouragements into his hair as Crowley writhed on his cock.

Crowley keened as he came, spilling wet warmth between them.

Limp underneath his angel, he was powerless to resist when Aziraphale slipped out of him. Aziraphale’s fingers, cool again with a miracle, tugged Crowley’s cock hard. And then it was his lips, opening around his length, sucking and licking and teasing.

“Like the taste of sin, do you?” Crowley panted as he bucked helplessly into Aziraphale’s mouth.

Aziraphale pulled off of him and laughed, and if it wasn’t quite as sinister as Crowley could have wanted for their scenario, he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“Not as much as you will, I think.” And he licked a stripe up Crowley’s stomach, and gripped his hair, and yanked him into a forceful kiss. Crowley whined in the back of his throat as he tasted himself on Aziraphale’s tongue.

Aziraphale released him and rolled to his own back, dragging Crowley astride him.

Crowley went along obediently. He was empty of anything but bliss. Empty of power, empty of thoughts, empty of angel. He was a vessel, ready to be filled for Aziraphale’s pleasure.

To be filled with Aziraphale’s pleasure.

“Once more,” Aziraphale commanded. “Once more, demon.”

From somewhere within he summoned the strength to curl his lip and snarl, “Once more, angel. But this time you come with me.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. And then it was his turn to gasp as Crowley raised himself up just high enough to sink down again on the stiff length of Aziraphale’s prick.

That was it. That was all Crowley had the stamina for, weakened as he was by the circle, by orgasm. But before he could muster the energy to consider what should happen next, strong hands gripped his hips, lifted him up, pulled him back down hard.

Aziraphale’s strength was measured, Crowley could tell – he’d been on the receiving end of full celestial force before. The angel was Being Careful. But his touch still felt so very good as he rocked Crowley into his thrusts. And Crowley recognised the rhythm. This was Aziraphale finally chasing his own pleasure.

He’d served Crowley so well, he’d been perfect, and Crowley wanted this to be good for him too. He tossed his sweat-wet hair over his shoulder and took himself in hand. “Is this what you wanted to see?” he demanded as he jerked his cock roughly, in time with the pace Aziraphale had set.

He knew very well that it was _exactly_ what Aziraphale liked to see, and he was rewarded with a stutter of hips, a parting of lips, with wide blue eyes blown dark. But Aziraphale still held himself back. Waiting, Crowley realised. Waiting on him.

He tilted his body to the best angle, the one they both loved, the one that let Aziraphale hit him at just the right spot. He curled and twisted his fingers around himself; he felt his climax build tight between his legs; he tipped his head back and wailed when it burst and rippled through him, sobbing Aziraphale’s name into the darkness outside the circle as he spurted hot over his own hand.

And he rode Aziraphale as the angel fucked into him: one, two, three more thrusts deep into Crowley’s body before he came with his own cry, hot and wet and filling Crowley full.

Crowley slumped forward onto him in utterly sated exhaustion.

They lay together, soaked and filthy, swathed in the smells of sex and sweat, listening to each other’s slowing breath and to the occasional pop of a candle.

Finally Crowley stirred. “I think you said something about a release?”

“I rather think I’ve already taken care of that,” Aziraphale muttered, but he flung out an arm and brushed a break into the ring of salt. The candles went out.

Crowley shuddered as his occult power poured back into him.

He nuzzled into the damp curls on Aziraphale’s chest. “That was. Just. …Holy hell, angel.”

In the dark he felt Aziraphale’s lips brush the top of his head. “Quite.”

He groaned in protest as the angel pulled free and wriggled out from under him. Protested louder when he found himself miraculously clean.

“I wanted a bath,” he complained.

“And you shall have one,” Aziraphale promised. He gathered Crowley in his arms to carry him upstairs. “But I don’t see the need to make any more of a mess in the shop than we already have.”

*~*~*

The bathwater was warm. Not quite hot.

Crowley hadn’t thought he’d find it pleasant, not after the sweltering heat of the circle. But Aziraphale had run them a cool shower first, the water sluicing down their heated bodies as they kissed and murmured praise. Then he’d settled Crowley in the tub before vanishing back downstairs.

He could faintly hear sounds of scrubbing. A few bangs here and there. But even with his powers returned he couldn’t sense anything but angelic contentment. So he let his faint worry go and relaxed into the water, one leg dangling over the side of the tub, his last few thoughts adrift on a sea of satiation.

Candles twinkled on the windowsill – not the ritual candles, but the fussy vanilla ones Aziraphale loved. The ones with the dried blue flowers pressed in.

He sipped from the glass of cold fizzy water the angel had left for him, feeling altogether spoiled.

Aziraphale’s hands in his hair moments later did nothing to dispel the sensation.

“I’m sorry to abandon you like that, dearest. Best not to leave a summoning circle laid out though. Who knows what else might show up?” The heat and buzz of holy magic still clung to Aziraphale’s fingertips, and Crowley turned his head to let the angel reach as much of his scalp as possible.

“Good call. Getting rid of Hastur would be a lot less fun.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve read some fascinating things about frog tongues.”

“Oi!” He splashed water in the direction of Aziraphale’s chuckle with as much outrage as he could manage. Which wasn’t much more than a flick of fingers and a few scattered drops.

With one hand Aziraphale piled Crowley’s hair atop his head. The other probed carefully at his back.

“M’fine. Told you,” Crowley reassured him. “If anyone’s back needs looking at, it’s yours.”

Aziraphale made a small, disappointed noise. “Do you know, I think the circle actually _healed_ those scratches you left.” Crowley could almost hear him pouting. “I’d hoped those would last.”

A glass vial uncapped, and a generous pour of bath oil floated across the top of the water. Sandalwood, with a hint of musky rose and honey.

“I’m going to smell like you for days, angel.”

“Yes. You will.” And if there’d been so much of an atom of Crowley’s body that wasn’t already wrung out of lust, it would have exploded at the smug possessiveness in Aziraphale’s voice; would have melted under the strong, soft hands rubbing oil into his skin.

He didn’t think there was a solid bone left in his body when he finally pushed himself out of the water. He stifled a yawn as he let Aziraphale wrap him in a fluffy towel; he was grateful their bed was just the next room over.

Naked and damp, smelling of sandalwood, Crowley slid between the smooth cool sheets and listened to Aziraphale tidying up with a froth of little miracles. And then he quietly did a few miracles of his own.

“Angel!” he called. “Come to bed. I miss you.”

When Aziraphale emerged from the bathroom, it was all laid out:

Soft piano notes wafting gently from the gramophone.

The novel Aziraphale was reading, transported from his nightstand at Crowley’s flat, its red ribbon bookmark impeccably in place.

Milk chocolates and a glass of chilled white wine, set on a handkerchief so the cold sweat of the glass wouldn’t wet the book.

And Crowley, waiting for him, with the soft covers turned back just so, and the pillows fluffed to perfection.

He was ready for Aziraphale’s glowing, radiant delight. He wasn’t at all ready for Aziraphale to ignore everything in favour of draping himself over Crowley’s chest and cuddling close.

“Oh, love, you’re far too good to me,” Aziraphale sighed drowsily, tenderly. His soft curls tickled Crowley’s chin, and Crowley decided the rest of it would keep.

He pulled his angel to him, cradling the nape of his neck, caressing his broad back, and wrapped him in the circle of his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written in response to a post on [Whiteley Foster's Patreon.](https://www.patreon.com/Whiteley_Foster/)
> 
> I don't seem to be able to write smut without cuddles, however. Ah well, I suppose there's worse problems to have...
> 
> [GoodbyeVanny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenCaryatid/pseuds/GoodbyeVanny) made some absolutely stunning NSFW art of a scene from this fic, you can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216487), please take a look - it's lovely!
> 
> The fantastic claireodynamic also made multiple NSFW works capturing moments from this story, which you can see [here](https://twitter.com/nothistoryart/status/1359954000909639681?s=20), they are beautiful!
> 
> I am so delighted that this little piece inspired such marvelous artists - I'm absolutely awash in fanart riches. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The heat of the circle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216487) by [GoodbyeVanny (TheFallenCaryatid)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenCaryatid/pseuds/GoodbyeVanny)




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